Storm (31 page)

. . . and knowing we’d been shanghaied by the enemy.
“We’ve got to do something,” Tori said. “You know they’re not just taking this monster out for a joy ride.”
That’s when it hit me.
“I was right,” I announced. “Look.”
I pointed to the ground to see that we had already left the desert. Though it was dark, I could make out buildings and homes. I saw a dark racetrack and many industrial buildings.
“About what?” Tori asked.
“We’re headed for Las Vegas,” I said solemnly.
Sure enough, the darkened buildings of the Las Vegas Strip came into view. I could make out the sprawling hotels, the Stratosphere Tower, and even the Statue of Liberty lying on its side.
A loud hum came from the silver canister across from us. The nefarious weapon had come to life. A bright beam of light shot from underneath the plane. It looked very much like the multiple beams of light that had joined together to kill my friend, only far more intense. It was a sight I hoped I’d never have to witness again. It made my heart ache . . . and my blood boil.
The powerful beam hit the Venetian hotel, with its canals and gondolas. The entire structure lit up—and disappeared. All that was left was a deep, empty sand pit. The lagoon, the bridges, the tower, the
buildings
were all gone in seconds.
“Like Portland,” Tori said with a quivering voice.
The beam focused on the hotels across the street with the same result. The huge hotels lit up and were gone. The pirate ships in the fake lagoon disappeared. The fake volcano vanished. Every last manmade structure evaporated.
There was no escaping this purge.
I hoped that Charlotte had evacuated in time.
I hoped that
everyone
had evacuated in time.
The plane hovered over the hotel with the fake Roman Colosseum theater where the survivors had met to prepare for the raid. Seconds later it was gone, along with every last statue, fountain, and building. In seconds the terrain was returned to the way it had looked hundreds of years before.
“They’re sweeping it all away,” Tori said. “They knew exactly where the survivors were hiding, thanks to Jon.”
I fumbled around the jump seat, looking for a way to release the safety strap.
“What are you doing?” Tori asked.
“Trying to get out of here.”
“To do what?”
“Las Vegas is done,” I said. “I’m more worried about the next stop.”
“Los Angeles,” she said, breathless.
“This is how they’re going to finish the job. They could easily fly this monster over every major city and do exactly what they’re doing to Las Vegas. Hell, they could probably do it all in one night.”
She let that horror sink in, then said, “The bombs. Could we detonate them faster?”
“I don’t know how,” I said.
I fumbled with my hand under the seat until I found a lever. I pressed it and the safety straps instantly retracted. I found Tori’s lever and released her too.
“What do we do, Tucker?” Tori asked.
I looked to the hatch up front. There seemed to be only one choice.
“We hijack the plane,” I replied.

The massive Retro plane was finished with Las Vegas and was moving on, probably to Los Angeles, where it would complete its murderous sweep of that city. From there, who knew?

According to my stopwatch, only five minutes had gone by since I had set the charge to try to damage the big plane. That’s all the time it took to delete Las Vegas, and at the speed we were traveling, it would only be a few minutes before Los Angeles was in range.

“The pilot has no idea we’re here,” I whispered to Tori. “We’ll surprise him and force him to land at gunpoint.”
“What if he won’t?”
“Shoot him,” I replied. “Hit his leg or his arm or anything that’ll tell him we’re serious. You okay with that?”
“Absolutely.”
It was hard to believe we had been hardened to the point of calmly talking about shooting people, but if the choice was between winging somebody in the leg or watching as thousands of people were obliterated, it was a no-brainer.
“Ready?” I asked.
Tori took a nervous breath and nodded.
I hurried forward toward the hatch door. It was an unnerving sensation to walk across the transparent floor as the ground flew by beneath us. Once I was there, I turned back to Tori.
She raised the gun.
I reached for the handle, gave her a small nod, and yanked the door open.
I hadn’t planned on doing what I did. I was acting totally out of instinct. I started screaming wildly, hoping it would add to the shock of our arrival.
There were two pilots sitting at the wide console, not one. The cockpit was huge, with plenty of room for me to run in and target one of them. I went for the guy on the right, the copilot. With my adrenalin pumping, I was ready to grab him, yank him out of the chair, and throw him to the floor so Tori could hold the gun to his head.
I took one step inside. The copilot spun around, and I froze.
“Wha—?” he gasped with surprise.
The guy in the copilot’s seat . . . was Mr. Feit.
He was as stunned to see me as I was to see him, and I took advantage.
I leaped forward, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him out of his seat. Feit was bigger than me, but I had surprise on my side . . . and anger. I finally had my chance for revenge. Seeing him gave me the added boost of adrenalin I needed to take the guy apart.
I whipped him around and slammed his back against the rear wall of the cockpit. The force must have knocked the air out of his lungs because I heard him grunt with pain and gasp for breath. I kicked his legs out, and he went down to the deck. Hard. I quickly twisted one of his arms behind his back and pulled his hand up to his shoulder, making him squeal.
I’m ashamed to admit that I enjoyed hurting him.
No, I’m not.
Tori jumped behind me, sat on his legs, and jammed the muzzle of the Glock into his lower spine.
“One shot and you’re a cripple,” she snarled.
“Land the plane!” I ordered the pilot.
The cockpit looked more like an elaborate computer workstation than the controls of a plane. There were no mechanical toggles or switches. Instead, the console was made up of multiple touchscreens. There was a narrow windshield in front, but the line of video monitors beneath it was what gave the pilot the information he needed. There were several live views of the ground, along with multiple indicators of various functions.
There was no wheel or joystick. The pilot seemed to be guiding the plane by sliding his fingertips across a touchpad.
If there was ever a moment when I bought into Kent’s theory about the Retros being from another planet, it was then.
The pilot was the same guy we had seen running up the ramp. He didn’t look much older than me, with short military-cut hair. Both he and Feit wore gray flight suits.
His eyes were wide and frightened. He had no idea what to do.
“Sir?” he asked, near panic.
“Stay the course!” Feit bellowed.
Tori jammed the gun barrel into Feit’s back, making him grunt. “I swear I’ll do it,” she warned.
“What the hell?” Feit bellowed. “I can’t get rid of you people!”
I had my knee on Feit’s cheek, squeezing his head into the deck.
“Land the plane, Feit,” I demanded. “If you think we won’t shoot you, you are dead wrong.”
The pilot bolted out of his seat and dove at Tori.
Neither of us expected that.
Tori didn’t react in time, and it cost her. The pilot knocked her off of Feit and went for the gun. The move threw me off-balance, and that was all Feit needed to twist free and shove me back against the control console. I hit my head and saw stars but fought through it and launched myself at Feit, driving my head into his chest.
We hit the hatch, and it flew open, sending us tumbling into the cargo bay. The hinges must have been on springs because as soon as we cleared it, it slammed back shut.
A shot went off inside the cockpit. Then another.
I heard Tori yelp.
I tried to go back for the hatch, but Feit kneed me in the gut.
I doubled over as he pulled away from me and scrambled to get back to the cockpit.
Though I was hurting, I couldn’t let him get back in there. Not if Tori was hurt.
I struggled to my feet and went after him. I wrapped my arms around him and kept driving my legs forward, using his momentum and mine to drive his head into the hatch, making a sickening thud.
He was just as amped as I was and pushed off the bulkhead with his foot, sending us both backward and down to the invisible deck.
I caught a brief glimpse of the ground flashing by below. We were no longer in the desert. There were buildings down there. Many buildings. We were over civilization and headed for Los Angeles.
Feit shot an elbow backward and caught me in the temple, snapping my head back. It was all he needed to pull away from me.
But he was dazed. He couldn’t think fast, let alone move quickly. He struggled to get to his feet.
I wasn’t much better off. My ears rang, and colors swirled around me. I had to force myself to focus. If I didn’t end the fight soon, he would crush me. Any advantage I had was gone. He was an adult. A soldier. He knew how to fight. All I was was angry. If he was able to get himself together, I was done.
I spotted the jump seats. Feit was gathering himself up a few yards in front of them.
I pushed off the deck and charged him again.
This time, Feit knew I was coming and whirled around to face me. He stood up straight. Big mistake.
It was like a tackling drill I had done hundreds of times before. I got down low and led with my shoulder. I hit him square in the chest and pumped my legs, forcing him backward. Feit staggered back and landed in the jump seat.
Instantly the safety straps wrapped him up and locked him in. But he could still use his arms and legs. I couldn’t back off. I drove my forearm into his neck and held it there, jamming it against his windpipe.
My face was now inches from his. Feit’s nose was bleeding. It was probably broken. His hard breathing sent disgusting bits of blood and spit into my eyes, but I didn’t back off.
“Land this plane,” I demanded, seething. “You are not going to hit Los Angeles.”
“You can’t stop this, Tucker,” he hissed. “We’ve already won.”
“Who
are
you?”
Feit’s labored breathing turned into a gruesome laugh as he said, “Don’t you get it?”
“No. Explain it to me.”
“We’re
you
!”
His strange answer made my brain clutch for a brief instant. It was all the opening he needed to hit the release latch with his free hand to retract the straps. He shoved me, and I careened backward, fighting to keep from falling.
Feit launched out of the chair.
I got my balance and ran forward, cutting the angle to beat him to the hatch.
But he wasn’t going for the hatch.
He dropped to his knees and reached underneath the jump seats to grab something.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t let him get it, so I put on the brakes and headed his way . . .
. . . as he pulled out a black baton weapon.
He quickly turned it my way.
I froze. He had me.
Feit’s face was a mess, thanks to me. He was covered with blood from a smashed nose that was still spewing.
Through the gore, he shrugged and laughed. He always laughed.
“You know something? I don’t like you that much anymore,” he said and raised the weapon.
Boom!
The plane rocked so violently that we both fell to the deck. Boom!
We were jolted again as I saw a white flash of light through the transparent floor.
Two gray fighter jets screamed by below us.
We were under attack.
SYLO had joined the party.
Feit was disoriented. I had my chance and dove at him, grabbing the black weapon. We both had two hands on it, struggling to twist it out of the other’s control. Whoever lost would be dead.
It wasn’t going to be me.
Instead of pulling back, I pushed forward. Feit hadn’t expected that and fell onto his back. I did a somersault over his head while still clutching the baton. The weight of my body and the force from the move gave me the power to wrench the weapon from his grasp. I kept rolling, got to my feet, and spun back to face him.
Feit was still flat on his back. He was done.
I glanced quickly at the weapon, trying to figure out how to fire it. There was a button that was flush to the grip handle right where my thumb rested. I aimed the baton toward the silver canister on the far side of the cargo bay and pressed it.
There was a slight jolt as the weapon chugged in my grip, but not enough to make me lose control. The charge of energy hit the silver canister but only caused a slight dent. Whatever that thing was made of, it was strong.
More important, I knew how to use the gun.
“Get up,” I demanded as I took aim at him.
Feit slowly got to his feet.
“In there,” I said, nodding toward the cockpit. “If you so much as fart, you’re done.”
The guy was beaten. He nodded and shuffled toward the hatch with no argument.
I stole a quick glance at my watch.
In eighteen minutes the charges would explode.
I stayed close behind Feit, but not close enough for him to attack me. He pulled the hatch open, and I saw that the pilot was back in his seat. In one hand he held Tori’s pistol, aimed at something I couldn’t see. I had to believe it was Tori, and if he was aiming the gun, she was still alive.
“Put it down!” Feit ordered.
The pilot gave him a confused look. The guy was terrified. Can’t say that I blame him. We were being attacked. I wondered if the massive plane could maneuver like the smaller fighters. If not, we’d be shot out of the sky . . . and maybe that would be a good thing.
My question became irrelevant when two black Retro jets flashed by beneath us. The attack had become a dogfight. More black jets arrived to protect the mother ship as even more SYLO fighters arrived. The two sets of planes screamed past and around each other in a confused aerial ballet.
The SYLO fighters fired missiles, but the Retro jets blew them out of the air before they could reach their target.
Us.
“Sit down,” I ordered Feit.
I wanted him in his seat, where I could see him.
“Drop the gun,” Feit said to the pilot again.
The pilot gave me a panicked look then dropped the gun to the deck and turned his entire attention to the controls.
“I’m okay,” Tori called out.
I stepped into the cockpit and saw that she was sitting on the deck on the far side. She was alive, but she wasn’t okay. She clutched her thigh, where she had been shot. I kicked the gun across the deck to her. She gladly picked it up with her right hand while clutching her injured leg with her left.
“Seriously,” she said. “I’m okay. But I’m sick of getting shot.”
She lifted her hand from her leg to reveal a blossom of blood growing on her jeans.
The control screens were alive with the frantic sights of the dogfight. About six different cameras, as well as the long windshield in front, gave a full-circle view of the activity outside.
A SYLO jet was headed directly for us. It launched a missile and then broke off. Seconds later the missile exploded in the air. It rocked us, but that was all.
“Where did they come from?” the pilot asked, frantically glancing at Feit. He was all squirrely, as if he didn’t have much combat experience. “How could they know we were headed for Los Angeles?”
“I doubt if they do,” Feit said. “The fools probably think we’re going to attack Catalina Island. Relax, the fighters will keep them off of us.”
“Why would they think you’d attack Catalina Island?” I said.
Feit shrugged as if it was no big deal. “It’s a SYLO base, like Pemberwick Island.”
I looked down through the deck to see that we were over the ocean. Below us was a fleet of warships. I flashed back to the airand-sea battle we had gone through to escape from Pemberwick.
Tori’s theory was true. SYLO
had
been protecting Pemberwick Island from the Retros, just like they were now protecting Catalina.
But Feit wasn’t going after Catalina. He was headed for Los Angeles and what were probably thousands of survivors. Maybe hundreds of thousands.
I glanced at my watch. Sixteen minutes.
“Turn around,” I demanded.
Feit looked over his shoulder and gave me a hideous grin.
“We’re not landing,” he declared.
“Not here you’re not. You’re going back to Area 51. Now. Right now.”
The pilot gave a questioning glance to Feit.
“Let me see,” Feit said. “That would be . . . no.”
I fired the weapon at the plane’s console, blasting out two of the video monitors.
Feit and the pilot threw themselves out of their chairs for protection.
“Those jets may protect you from SYLO,” I said. “But they can’t get to me. You’ve got a choice. Turn this thing around and fly back to Area 51, or I’ll take it down right here. One way you lose this plane and die. The other way you give yourself a chance.”
“Take this down and you die too,” Feit said, though with a hint of genuine concern.
I answered by firing two more shots into the console, hoping I wasn’t hitting anything vital.
“A Retro said we primates were already dead, we just didn’t know it yet. I guess that means we have nothing to lose. If we go down, so be it, but we are
not
going to Los Angeles.”
I raised the baton, aiming it directly at Feit’s head.
I saw terror in his eyes.
I loved it.
“Bring us around,” Feit ordered the pilot.
“But, sir,” the pilot protested. “We’ll face court martial—”
“We’ll deal,” Feit shot back. “Bring us around.”
“Yes, sir,” the pilot said and crawled back into his seat.
After a few swipes of his finger on a screen, the plane banked hard. We were constantly being buffeted by the force of missiles that were exploding all around us. I had to have faith that the Retro fighters would continue to protect us . . . even though the mission had been aborted.
“I’m getting questions,” the pilot said as he touched his ear. He was being contacted by someone. “They want to know why we’re coming about.”
Feit said, “Tell them we’re having technical difficulties.” He gave me a snide smile and added, “I’d call this a technical difficulty.”
“Step on it,” I said.
“Isn’t there somewhere else you’d like to go?” Feit asked sarcastically. “The Bahamas? Paris? Sydney? You’ve got the most advanced aircraft ever created. Let’s take it for a spin.”